I once looked at old photos,

And smiled at my face,

With rosy cheeks and plumpness,

Adult-me would embrace.

 

I laughed at the fashion,

Inflicted upon us all,

I remembered the happiness,

And the nicknames we would call.

 

I thought of our old houses,

The places we called home,

I conjured up the wonder,

Of childhood free to roam.

 

But there was something I was missing,

When I looked upon the scenes,

A person in the background,

Permed hair. Acid-wash, high-waisted jeans.

 

Of course she’d always been there,

Steering our mother ship,

I had seen her physical presence,

A child cuddled on her hip.

 

But I didn’t see her there,

The woman behind the smile,

The mother who held our hand,

Across every bumpy mile.

 

I didn’t see her then,

I never could’ve known,

The strength and vulnerability,

Motherhood makes you own.

 

But I’ve got my own kids now,

It’s like someone’s turned a key,

Because today when I look at photos,

It’s a super woman staring back at me.

 

I can see her so clearly, my mother,

As I never could before,

A woman who’s unshakeable,

And I love her even more.

 

Eliza xx